Sacrifice
by rebelrsr
Summary: The Scoobies face their greatest challenge yet. Will they triumph?
1. Chapter 1

Summary: The Scoobies face their greatest challenge yet. Will they triumph?

Spoilers: I've put my own stamp on S6 but I'm sure there will be glimpses of everything canon before that.

Disclaimer: There will be some original characters as this move forward. Those belong to me. Joss and Co. owns the rest.

Eyes drifting closed, Willow gently rubbed her lips against Tara's skin. It had been so long. Too long. "Missed you," she whispered softly, afraid that vocalizing any of the thousand thoughts and regrets zipping around in her mind would end the dream.

"Shh." A finger trailed lightly over Willow's cheek. "Don't, sweetie. Don't," Tara ordered. "I'm here, and I'm not leaving again."

A single, scalding tear slipped beneath Willow's lashes and burned a path down the side of her face and into her hair. "I won't, either," she choked out despite the constriction in her throat. "Not leaving. Not…" Willow sucked in a breath that sounded very much like a sob. "Not for anything." Nothing was better than being here in Tara's arms.

Well, maybe there _was_ something better…

Willow's next breath was less sob and more gasp. Tara shifted, the hand stroking Willow's face sliding lower until it rested just beneath the swell of her left breast, thumb flicking in a tantalizing rhythm over the nipple. "You're thinking again. We agreed, no thinking."

"No…thinking," Willow agreed dazedly. Even if she wanted to think, it wasn't possible at the moment. Her body shivered as Tara licked and nibbled at the spot where her neck and shoulder joined. "Feeling. All feeling."

"That's good, sweetie." Tara was laughing; Willow recognized the suppressed sound in Tara's voice. "Let's see if we can make those feelings stronger, hmm?" The flicking finger suddenly plucked Willow's nipple, pulling it out and away from her chest. Tara's grip wasn't quite tight enough to hurt. Just firm enough to encourage Willow to arch her back, pressing against the tangled sheets with her feet for more leverage.

Before Willow had a chance to crash back to the bed, Tara attacked the spot on her neck again. Then her teeth dragged downward, sensuously scraping the skin until stopping so Tara could suck on Willow's pulse point.

The suction grew, emphasized by a sharp pinprick of teeth. Tara was going to, probably already had, leave a mark. Willow's lips lifted in a smile. Darn it, it was too warm for turtlenecks. People were going to see that. Another sharp nip prefaced Tara releasing the skin, and Willow's already scattered thoughts lost any pretense of cohesion and bounced around in a silent imitation of her usual speech patterns.

"Tara," Willow murmured. Heat ran rampant in her body. Sweat beaded on her lip and pooled between her breasts. Her hips rose and fell in a wordless plea. "Don't…" Don't stop. Hurry. _More_. Unable to form the words, she frantically pulled Tara closer, wrapping her right leg around Tara's shoulders.

She was just in time.

Both of Tara's hands concentrated on separating the slick folds of Willow's labia. A puff of cool air tickled her clit. Tara's tongue wiggled inside Willow's core – and Willow's hips surged up, helped by the flexing of the leg wrapped around Tara.

Stiffening, hands scrabbling at Tara's back and shoulders before finding purchase in her hair, Willow hovered on the edge of pleasure. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, a thrumming that matched the pulses in her clit for a second, until she plummeted into the abyss.

She shook and writhed under Tara. "Dear Goddess." It was benediction and compliment in one.

"You always say that, sweetie." Still Tara looked exceedingly pleased with herself as she sat up and wiped her mouth on the corner of the bed sheet.

"And I always mean it," Willow answered fervently. "You are a goddess." Ignoring the lassitude weighing down her limbs, she pushed herself up and captured Tara's lips with hers. The kiss was slow and languid. They'd done fast and furious the night before. And earlier this morning. It was time to savor their reunion.

Unfortunately, Willow's stomach had other ideas. With a giggle, Tara broke away. "Have you been taking lessons from Buffy? That sounds terrible, Willow. Don't you ever feed it?" Her smile was wide as she moved away and stood up. "Get up, sweetie. Why don't we find Buffy and I'll fix some breakfast? I think I saw enough food to throw something together."

The final comment was dry, and Willow winced. "You know none of us can cook, Tara. We've done OK with sandwiches." When they remembered to fix them. "And Dawn spends most of her time with Janice."

"Uh huh." Tara wasn't convinced, and Willow rolled her eyes (at Tara's back) as her girlfriend dragged on her discarded clothing from the night before. "If I find mold on the bread, I'm dragging you to the grocery the second we finish breakfast cleanup. You're old enough – and smart enough – to buy food." The zipper on her jeans rasped up. "Move, Willow. Now. I'm not getting attacked by that monster in your stomach."

"I'm not getting attacked…" Willow mocked in a high-pitched voice. "You have so changed, you know that?" Then, in case Tara thought she didn't enjoy the changes, she hurried on. "All big with the butch now, telling me what to do." She glanced up, eyes bright with mischief. "Taking care of my needs and ignoring your own."

A shirt floated Willow's way. "My _needs_ include eating, Willow. I'm a big girl, and it isn't like we didn't make love most of the night." More confident and forthright Tara might be; it hadn't eliminated her familiar, fiery blush. "Get dressed," she nearly pleaded.

"Fine." Feeling as if her head might split from her smile, Willow dressed quickly and skipped toward Tara and held out her hand.

Tara's hand slid against Willow's until their fingers entwined. "I love seeing you smile, Willow. I missed it." Pulling gently, she drew Willow out of the room. "While I'm checking the cabinets, can you find Buffy? I thought I heard her moving around a while ago."

Willow grumbled good-naturedly as she slowly followed Tara down the stairs. "Do I have to? As soon as the food starts cooking Super Smeller will be in the kitchen ready to eat." It wasn't true, though, she silently acknowledged. Tara had been wrong about Willow's recent eating habits, but she'd nailed Buffy's. The last time she and Buffy had crossed paths, Buffy had looked skeletal.

"You're thinking again," Tara interrupted Willow's thoughts. "We talked about that."

Talking hadn't been all they'd done. Some of Willow's momentary depression lifted, and she smirked. "Is that what you call it?" When she spotted the worried frown on Tara's face, Willow sobered. "Sorry. I guess I've done a lot of damage to all my friendships. If you can get Buffy to the kitchen, it'll be the first meal we've shared since…" Goddess. "Since she came back," Willow whispered.

A fingertip tapped Willow's nose. "I'm here, sweetie. All damage forgiven and forgotten. I'm sure Buffy will do the same as soon as you talk to her."

Willow wasn't so sure. She didn't say that, though. Tara was an eternal optimist; no way was she ruining that on the very first day they were back to being a couple. "Yep," she agreed instead, working only a little more than normal to sound perky and confident. "She's my best friend. I just have to remind her – and myself – of that." They reached the bottom of the stairs and Willow stopped, forcing Tara to stop as well. "You work on the food, and I'll start the Slayer Search, OK?" She leaned in, intending to kiss Tara, when a loud bang sounded from outside.

"I thought Giles was in England," Tara joked. "Or is there another decrepit Citroen belching smoke in Sunnydale?"

A second sharp report echoed. "No, we're Giles Free at the moment." This was another topic Willow would prefer to avoid. Giles was one of those relationships she'd shattered and left in tatters. Their last discussion, argument really, was still too fresh. "Maybe he loaned it…" Her words broke off when a third bang sounded, followed by glass shattering from upstairs.

"That's not a car," Tara stated unnecessarily. She let go of Willow's hand and started back up the stairs. "Find Buffy! I'll see what broke."

Hesitating, Willow stared after Tara. A frisson of unease goose pimpled her skin, and the air around her felt heavy and expectant. Something was very wrong. Willow tore her eyes away from Tara and ran into the kitchen.

It was empty.

Willow turned, only stopping when she glimpsed movement through the patio's French door. "Buffy?" She ran for the door, wrenching it open. "Buffy? What's going on?"

The fleeing figure never slowed down.

"Will!" Xander's shout spun Willow around. "Call 911!" He was crouched on the grass, arms around… around…

The bright sunlight dimmed, and the world went gray and cold.

Shaking her head, Willow tried to make sense of what she saw. Xander held Buffy in his arms. Buffy. Why would he be holding her like that? Willow took a step closer. Was Buffy sleeping? Her foot dropped off the patio, and she stumbled. Pain flared, bright and sharp, as her knee scraped against the railing. Stupid step…

She kept walking, legs oddly disjointed, across the yard. "Xan?" Willow asked. Her voice was high and tremulous, and she cleared her throat. Sweat trickled down her forehead and burned her eyes. "Who was that…?" Willow tried to ask about the person running past her, but her attention was caught and derailed by the dark, spreading stain on Buffy's shirt. "Oh, wow. I bet Buffy wasn't happy about that; it's her favorite shirt."

Xander didn't say anything. His eyes, wide and dark and filled with tears, barely glanced at Willow before returning to study Buffy.

Buffy. The world snapped back into focus. Sunlight beat down on the grass and the blood soaking Buffy's shirt…

Willow's knees gave out and she dropped to the ground as if she were a marionette whose strings had been cut. "Buffy!" The scream of denial ripped from her throat and her hands reached out automatically. To help. To touch. The blood and the terrible stillness in Buffy's body stopped Willow cold. Her hands hung limply over Buffy's chest. "Buffy?" Willow asked. Pleaded.

There was no answer.

"Buffy?" Fighting panic, Willow finally ignored the blood and gently touched her friend. Buffy's eyelids fluttered in response and Willow felt the faintest rise and fall under her palms. "Hey…" She wasn't dead. Buffy wasn't dead. Not yet. Her pallor, though, indicated that death was an option. Willow remembered that color from her last glimpse of Joyce and the legions of undead over the years.

Oh no. She wasn't losing Buffy again. This time, Willow was here in time. Holding Buffy's dazed and unfocused gaze, Willow smiled encouragingly. "You'll be fine, Buffy. I promise. Just give me a minute." Reaching for the latent energy around her, Willow grasped the strongest of the signatures and pulled, virtually stripping the life force from the area. The power rushed through her, pooling deep inside, until Willow's skin tingled and her body felt on the edge of explosion.

"No," a soft, resolute voice announced. Buffy's voice.

Willow reared back on her knees. "Shh," she said, in an unconscious echo of Tara. "I won't let anything happen to you, remember?" A trickle of power escaped her control and created a visible aura around her hands where they pressed against the gaping hole in Buffy's chest. "I can heal this…" The light highlighting her fingers grew muddied as more blood welled to cover them.

Buffy shifted until her head turned fractionally. Resolute hazel eyes glared at Willow. They blazed, holding Willow motionless. "No."

What? Willow frowned, more magic threatening to break free as she grappled with her confusion – and Buffy's clear directive. "You're hurt, Buffy. You don't know what you're saying." She congratulated herself on her answer when the fire went out of Buffy's eyes and just as quickly stopped when she saw pain replace the protest in Buffy's expression.

That pinched, sad, _angry_ expression Buffy had worn since Willow had brought her back. "_Why did you do it? Why couldn't you just leave me in…where I was? Do you think I __**want **__to be here?"_ A snippet of one of their many arguments flitted through Willow's mind as she watched Buffy slump in Xander's arms, head turning away in defeat.

_Why couldn't you leave me…_ Surely that wasn't what Buffy really wanted? Of course it wasn't. Willow gathered the reins of borrowed power tighter and prepared to pour it into Buffy.

And stopped.

_No_. _Do you think I __**want**__ to be here?_ That silent, irritating, honest Buffy continued to ask.

"Buffy?" Willow begged. "Please. Please let me help you." Let me keep you alive. "I can't…I can't…" I can't live without you. Willow also, she realized, couldn't do this, couldn't heal Buffy, without a signal – any signal – that it was OK.

The signal never came. Buffy's head remained resolutely turned away.

Hands outstretched, no longer to heal, but to entreat, Willow waited. And waited. While seconds ticked away and Buffy's blood continued to leak onto the grass. Magic swirled, pushing for release. "Buffy…" The day splintered into a million crystallized fragments as Willow began to cry. Her hands slid from Buffy's chest to her chin and cheeks, leaving rust-colored trails in their wake.

Slowly, ponderously, Buffy's turned her head. "I love you two. Always." Her lips twitched and then flattened. "Thank…you…"

Willow waited for more, but nothing came except the far-off wail of sirens and the broken sounds of Xander's grief.


	2. Chapter 2

It was hard to blink. Willow's eyes felt hot and dry, the lids stiff. The sunlight beat down on her as she continued to kneel next to Buffy, but there was no heat. Willow was cold all the way to her bones.

"Ma'am, I need you to move." The voice was soft yet insistent. "Please. I need to look at your friend."

Willow shook her head. She wasn't leaving Buffy. Not for anything.

Unfortunately, gentle hands gripped her shoulders. "Sweetie, let them help Buffy," Tara said. She tugged until Willow climbed unsteadily to her feet. "Come on." Tara wouldn't let her hover over the paramedic. She forced Willow to stumble back to the deck.

Once Willow was clear, the backyard erupted in chaos. Paramedics swarmed Buffy, hiding her from view. Police officers swept the perimeter and questioned Xander. Willow watched it all unfold as Tara held her hands and whispered in her ear.

Only moments before, Tara's touch had aroused and comforted Willow. Made her world return to a normal verging on perfect. But that was over. Willow felt nothing. Heard nothing. She was hollow; Buffy had occupied so much of her life. Now it was all gone.

Then the mass of bodies around Buffy moved. Two paramedics carried a stretcher covered in yellow plastic across the yard. One corner of the plastic rustled in the afternoon breeze, revealing a small tennis shoe-clad foot.

Willow's frozen emotions erupted. Rage consumed her and the magic lingering in her channels surged. The bright sunlight faded. The day turned monochrome, the people in the yard darker shadows against a gray background. This wasn't real. It couldn't happen. Buffy wasn't leaving like this. Not if Willow could help it.

"Don't do this!" Tara's fingers clutched Willow's until they ached. "Willow, pull it back!"

The words flow over and around Willow without making a dent in the wildfire of pain and power blazing in her mind. Buffy was dead, and someone was going to pay for that. The pressure built inside until Willow shook from the force. A tendril of magic escaped and snaked across the yard.

One of the paramedics staggered as the seething power coiled around his ankle.

Satisfaction surged, thickening the magical strand. Willow deliberately pulled in even more power to fill the void. They were going to regret letting Buffy die.

With a thought, Willow sent the magic up the paramedic's leg. Across his torso. Until it caressed the man's chest and neck. Like a lover, the energy tenderly wrapped its hands around his neck. Still trapped by Tara's fingers, Willow strained. The magic fought her control, and she had to bend it to her will. Mental exertion triggered a physical response. Slowly, Willow's fingers curled within Tara's grasp until the nails dug painfully into Willow's palms. The action gave her _just _enough sway over the magic.

The stretcher wavered; the plastic fluttered. "Martin?" There was burgeoning panic in the second paramedic's voice as his partner went to one knee and one end of the stretcher touched the ground.

Peripherally aware that the interlopers invading the backyard were on the move again, Willow savored the pain and fear looping back from her victim. He should be afraid. She had more power at her command than he could imagine.

He would be the first but not the last. She'd make them all pay, one by one. They were all responsible for Buffy's death. The Keystone Kops. They'd all looked the other way as Buffy had put her life on the line night after night for years to keep them safe. And now she was dead because of their incompetence.

First, though, Willow needed more magic. She'd nearly drained the ley line she'd tapped in order to heal Buffy, and reaching for the paramedic had stretched the power in her channels to the breaking point. She had to refuel. Diverting her attention was harder than she expected. Without complete focus, her grip on the man's throat eased. She heard him cough; saw him stand unsteadily.

That wouldn't do. Anger rose again. Willow gave up on finesse. Brute force would do just as well. Willow stopped searching for an external power source and looked deep within. Pain, anger, and a burning need for revenge still pulsed in simmering red waves. She narrowed her focus and pushed at the emotions. Words she'd read during one long night of research in Giles' precious and forbidden books sprang from her lips, "Azag galra sagbi mu unna te. Namtar galra zibi mu unna te."

The words actually hurt to say. They cut and tore Willow's throat and lips. Blood trickled from her mouth. She faltered and felt something twist and coil inside. Something deadly. Something waiting to burst out.

"Willow, please." Willow's concentration further wavered when Tara wrapped her in a fierce hug. "Sweetie, I know you're angry, but you can't do this. You can't lose control. Please, let the magic go. Ground it." Tara's voice wavered and broke. "Please…"

For a split second, Willow looked up into Tara's tear-reddened eyes. A headache pounded fiercely behind her eyes. "Buffy's dead," she said while the terrible _something _inside continued to stretch and grow.

Trembling lips brushed Willow's cheek. "I know." Tara sobbed brokenly. "I know, sweetie. But this won't bring her back."

No. Willow had given up on that when she realized Buffy was against it. She'd always done what Buffy asked. Right now, though, Willow was more primal, more powerful, and so very angry. She wasn't poised to petition Osiris for help. She was poised to punish the people responsible for Buffy's death.

"Buffy wouldn't want this." Releasing her grip on Willow's hands, Tara stepped away. She stared at Willow while more tears stained her cheeks. "Please, Willow."

Willow stood on a thin, twisting line. It wasn't visible, but it was there. She sensed it as she met Tara's eyes. Was Tara right? In her memory, Tara's pleading voice mixed with Buffy's – and the message was the same: let Buffy go, no matter how much it hurt.

Let Buffy go. Let go of her best friend. Her confidant. The first person to see past the shy nerd to the brilliant girl.

As Willow accepted that horrible thought, as she silently swore to let Buffy's soul slip away, a scream erupted deep within. A scream that manifested in a single, broken sound that slipped between Willow's lips.

"That's it, sweetie. Let go." Tara's arms were back, so tight around Willow that she struggled to breath. She sucked in air, nearly choking on its thickness. "Let it go." There was an odd note of command in Tara's repetition.

Burrowing her head into Tara's shoulder, Willow stopped fighting the tears. They burned down her cheeks and scalded her neck when they got trapped against Tara's blouse. "'k," she whispered. But she didn't want to let go. Letting go meant Buffy was really gone. Buffy… Willow shuddered with the force of the sob pressing against her chest and throat. Buffy.

Her grief grew too much for silence. Sobs, choked pleas to the Goddess… Willow tried them all.

Tara remained solid and supporting through it all. Her hands caressed Willow's shoulders and neck. Her fingers brushed away tears. Her soft, soothing voice sought to comfort Willow's pain.

Eventually, though, Tara's gentle voice changed. Firmed. "You have to ground the magic, Willow. You still have an aura, and your skin..."

The comment – and the tone – were odd and out of character enough that Willow pulled in one last, shuddering breath and raised her head. Tears still blurred her vision and she swiped impatiently at the wetness.

That's when she realized what Tara meant. Terror eclipsed grief. Thick, writhing black veins shifted under the skin of Willow's arms and hands. "Tara? What…how…" Willow panicked, and the energy filling her channels surged. It was like a living, breathing _thing. _

"You have to ground the power," Tara repeated implacably. "You didn't shield yourself, Willow. You didn't plan ahead."

It was an oft-repeated refrain from earlier arguments. Willow hadn't paid attention then. She'd been too consumed with the flush of power, and she'd brushed off Tara's attempts to teach her. It was a mistake Willow might not live to acknowledge. She could feel the unnatural twist and burn of the magic inside. And the dark veins were a visible sign of the black nature of the power she'd grabbed. "Can you help me?" Willow begged in a small voice.

Tara had tried to teach her back in the first days of their hesitant courtship. Hours spent whispering and giggling, talking about magic and spells.

If only Willow had listened.

"I'll try, sweetie." Tara's voice trembled, a clear indication she shared Willow's fear. "C-Can you still feel the ley line?"

It was hard – nearly impossible, in fact – for Willow to center and focus. The magic fought her will; the power inside coalesced into a fiery ball in her chest. Closing her eyes, Willow pushed past the pain and fear. She reached out slowly.

It wasn't there! She couldn't find the ley line.

Panic overwhelmed Willow until Tara pressed a soft kiss to her neck. "You can do it, sweetie. I know you can. Keep looking."

Some of the choking fear receded. Enough for Willow to feel the tiny yet clean signature of the line. There was only a residue of magic in the nearly empty conduit. Willow had stripped it when she'd gone to help Buffy. Luckily, she didn't need _more _power. She needed less. "Got it," she murmured.

"Just let the energy flow back into the reservoir." It sounded so simple, and Tara's reassuring presence filled Willow with confidence.

Unfortunately, returning the energy was _not _simple. Sweat, not tears, now stung Willow's eyes as she strained to shape and steer the power inside. It resisted her efforts, clinging to nooks and crannies in her channels. Willow forced the energy out, and her channels cleared inch by inch.

She was shaking by the time the last drop slithered away and into the ley line. Willow leaned into Tara and shook uncontrollably. "Goddess." The word slurred; Willow was completely drained, and the headache had reached epic, debilitating levels. Sweat or tears dripped near her chin. Willow swiped at her face, and her hand came away stained in red. "Tara?"

Sure fingers raised Willow's chin. "You have a nosebleed, sweetie." Tara pressed her lips to Willow's. "And a reaction headache, from the looks of it."

Her touch helped a little so Willow moved closer.

Someone coughed nearby, and feet shuffled against the porch steps, interrupting their embrace. "Ma'am?"

It took too much effort to raise her head. "Go away," Willow mumbled into Tara's shoulder.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. I need to ask you some questions. Your friend," the cop, Willow noted when she looked in his direction, flipped open a notebook, "Mr. Harris, said you were there when…when Ms. Summers passed away. It's important for us to get all the information now, while it's fresh in your mind."


	3. Chapter 3

"I didn't see anything," Willow mumbled. Without Tara holding her up, she might have collapsed. The sun, in defiance of the terrible events, blazed brightly, making it hard for her to focus. Her headache had reached migraine proportions.

The cop nodded but didn't back down. "Sometimes we see more than we think." Watching her closely, he clicked his pen open and closed. The sound further aggravated Willow. He knew it. She could _feel _his eyes on her. Gauging her reaction. "Why don't you walk me through what happened? Where were you when the shooting started?"

She wanted to kill him. If only Willow had the energy. His voice stabbed at her. His question, the situation made her remember. Laying her head more firmly on Tara's shoulder, she closed her eyes and concentrated. "I was inside with Tara." Her lips curled up. Hmm, inside. They'd been in the bedroom, laughing and teasing. Dressing for breakfast. With Buffy.

A coil of pain twisted around Willow's heart. Her voice trembled as she continued. "We...we started down the stairs."

If they hadn't been playing, would Tara have been outside when the shooting started? Would she have been able to save Buffy?

Or would there have been two bodies on the stretcher?

The image was so horrific. Willow turned and hugged Tara desperately; she needed the connection. Needed to prove that Tara was still there.

"Shh, baby. I'm right here." Just like always. Tara rocked them, crooning tunelessly until Willow could relax her grip slightly.

The cop waited patiently. His expression was sympathetic yet determined. He'd stand in that one spot until Willow finished her story - no matter how long it took.

"That's when we heard the first shot. We thought it was a car backfiring. Until there were more." Muscles tensed, ready to run, Willow mentally replayed her sprint into the yard. "We ran outside." Willow relived each second of the tale in slow motion as she talked. "I saw Buffy and Xander. Buffy was lying down. Or...half lying. Xander was kneeling. Holding her. I didn't understand."

Willow still didn't understand. How could this have happened? Her emotions teetered dangerously from an eerie calm to choking grief to the leading edge of a killing rage. Magical sparks blew through Willow's channels and lit the dregs of her personal energy store. Grappling with her inner demons, she missed the cop's next question, coming back to the conversation to find him staring at her. "What? I'm sorry..."

His pen scratched audibly across his notepad for a moment. "I asked if you saw anything else. Maybe the shooter?"

"No. Buffy...Buffy and Xander were here..." Wait. Willow stopped and closed her eyes again. That wasn't right. "When I came out of the kitchen, I did see someone." Willow's mind slowly wakened. The need to concentrate on what she'd witnessed helped her ignore the headache. "He was wearing a black jacket, I think." Pushing away from Tara, Willow paced to the edge of the deck and stared at the yard.

She could feel the cop move next to her. "Did he look familiar?"

"No." Willow thought she was telling the truth. She still gripped the deck railing, bent her head, and _thought_ really hard. Nothing. Not one real, useful detail. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. So sorry. She'd been so tied up in getting off the magic, in reconnecting with Tara, that she hadn't been there when Buffy needed her. And now Willow couldn't even describe the man who'd shot Buffy!

"That's alright, Ms. Rosenberg." A large hand disturbed Willow's intent examination of the wooden railing, a crumpled business card held between beefy fingers. "You call me if you remember anything else."

That would never happen. Turning away from the extended card, Willow walked back into the house. Buffy's house. Goddess_. Buffy_.

It was too quiet. Xander, Willow, and Tara sat in silence. Rather, Willow and Tara sat. Xander slumped. He'd followed the girls into the house, dropped into the armchair, put his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. He'd been like that ever since.

What were they supposed to do now? This time, Willow had no answers. Her mind was disconnected, her emotions numb. Unaware of the way her fingers gripped Tara's hand, she mindlessly examined the furniture, carpet, walls… The cycle repeated itself endlessly. Television, floor lamp, Xander, mantle with pictures.

Mantle with pictures. Willow's gaze stopped on a photo of Buffy and Dawn. Another of the Scoobies and a grimacing Giles.

Dawn.

Oh, Goddess. _Dawn_.

And Giles.

Willow's mind snapped on and hit the ground running. Or hopped erratically like a jumping bean.

They had to tell Dawn that Buffy was dead. They had to call Giles and tell him that Buffy was dead.

Was it repetition that made Willow able to at least _think _the word "dead" without crying?

And there was the funeral to arrange. That would be easy. Willow still had all of the paperwork from when they'd buried Buffy the last time.

Taking care of the demons wouldn't be as simple, though. The Buffybot was out; it had been destroyed. And, well, Buffy was officially dead this time. Even the Sunnydale police would notice if she "reappeared".

Damn. The pain was still there. Willow's breath hitched in a sob at the newest reminder.

Buffy was dead.

No. No, she couldn't get lost in emotions. Couldn't get lost in the fact Buffy would never hold her hand. Never cuddle close while they watched movies. Never…

Willow hurtled off the couch, fleeing the memories. There were things that had to be done; she had always been the Lead Slayerette. That hadn't changed. Voice hoarse yet firm, Willow took control of herself – and the situation. "Tara, can you pick Dawn up from school?"

Looking haunted and strained, Tara nodded. "Wh-What should I t-tell her?"

"Nothing." Some of Willow's assurance crumbled, and she looked at Tara in panic. "We…we should tell her together, right?"

A flicker of a smile and a hint of relief answered. "Right." Without another word, Tara left the room. The front door closed with a soft bang, and Willow felt the emptiness expand.

Was it always going to be like this from now on? It was so hard to keep going. "Xan?" Willow walked over and touched his shoulder. He didn't move. Pretending that he was paying attention, she gamely went on. "Do you still have those old patrolling schedules from last summer?" The summer when Buffy was only temporarily dead. "I thought we could use them…"

"No!" Xander erupted from the chair. Looming over her with clenched fists pressed against his thighs, he shouted, "Who cares about patrol? Aren't we going to do anything about Buffy? Aren't we going after him? He killed her – and you're talking about _patrol schedules?_"

Unconsciously retreating a step, Willow stared dumbly at Xander.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Xander demanded."Buffy's _dead, _Will. Who cares about patrol?"

Willow regained her position – and then moved into Xander's personal space. "What's wrong? I don't know, Xan. Maybe the fact that _Buffy's dead! _I haven't forgotten, but what can we do about it? It wasn't a demon attack! It was human!"

"It was Warren!" Xander's voice echoed in Willow's ears, each successive wave of sound growing louder. She barely heard his following announcement. "He started shooting, and she shoved me out of the way. She died because she pushed me out of the way."

Before Willow had a chance to recover, he stormed out of the house.

The cemetery smelled like dirt. Willow huddled next to Tara and watched Buffy's coffin slowly lower into the ground.

"Come on, sweetie. We should go." Tara tugged gently on Willow's hand, urging her (as she had for the past thirty minutes) to leave for home.

Not yet. They couldn't leave yet. Not until Buffy was all the way gone. Willow knew Buffy was dead. After all, she'd said it often enough when she'd called Giles and held Dawn as she'd screamed and cried and pleaded for it to all be a dream. But until the coffin was covered and out of sight, a tiny ember of hope flickered in Willow's heart. Hope that Buffy would burst from the metal box. Hope that she'd wake up with Dawn and laugh about their similar dream.

One front loader bucket of dirt at a time, Willow's hope disappeared.

Finally, as the cemetery workers packed up their equipment, Tara pulled Willow away from the gravesite. "Mr. Giles is waiting for us at the house." She paused next to Joyce's old Jeep. "He said he wanted to t-talk to all of us. Have you heard from Xander?"

"No. Not since…" Not since. Willow didn't bother to finish the sentence. Tara would know what she meant. Not since Buffy had died and he'd left the Summers' house. Willow had searched everywhere, even snuck into his apartment building by telling a neighbor she was Xander's girlfriend. He hadn't been there.

"He'll show up." Tara was a terrible liar.

Still, Willow summoned a smile and nodded. "I know," she lied back.

Despite their best efforts, however, Xander was not waiting in the living room with Giles and Dawn. Willow didn't understand. He was mad and understandably grieving for Buffy. So was she. But he needed to be here. Xander was a Scooby; he'd Buffy's closest male friend. He'd been Willow's first, and for a while only, friend.

Fresh tears streaked Willow's face as she sat next to Tara. Goddess, she couldn't lose Xander, too. It was too much. Nausea swelled, clogging her throat. Black dots danced in front of her eyes. Holding very still, Willow fought the lightness in her head and watched Giles pace uneasily in front of the mantle. After a few seconds, the dots faded. Willow pressed her hands to her still-twisting stomach.

"Willow, I…" Giles cleared his throat and removed his glasses. Rather than cleaning them, he rubbed a hand over his face and eyes. He looked tired. Worn. _Old_. "There is no good way to deliver the coming information. Forgive me."

There had been nothing good since Buffy died. Willow leaned into Tara and closed her eyes, bracing for another blow.

It wasn't enough preparation.

Not nearly enough.

"Buffy had not thought to create a last will and testament," Giles announced. "With her death," his voice wavered and cracked, "the Council successfully petitioned the court for Dawn's wardship. She and I will be returning to England this evening."

He kept talking. About sending someone to help with the Hellmouth. About the Summers' house. About all of them trying to move on and have a normal life.

Willow stopped listening. All she could really hear was the voice – her voice – screaming in silent denial of the horrible truth: Buffy was dead, and Giles was taking the last little piece of her away.


	4. Chapter 4

"Is that the last box?" Willow asked the burly man in overalls as he wheeled a dolly down the ramp bridging the space between the porch and sidewalk.

He gave her an impatient glance. "Yeah. Furniture's packed up. I'll put this in the truck and we're good to go. You got anything else you want us to take?" There were probably dollar signs dancing the tango in his head. He'd already scalped them over the quick turnaround time on the move.

Shaking her head, Willow shattered his dreams. "The rest is in our car. We'll meet you at the apartment." She wasn't quite ready to leave yet. Leaving was so…final. This house – Buffy's house – had been the only real home she'd ever had.

And now it belonged to someone else.

With slow strides, Willow walked through the front door and into the kitchen. So many memories. Xander and Buffy trying to open the jelly jar after the Cruciamentum. Before-school breakfasts at the island with Joyce and Buffy. She wandered out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She'd stood right here, Willow turned and looked back to the first floor, the Halloween they'd turned into their costumes. Buffy had been at the foot of the stairs, and her eyes had grown huge when Willow came out as a ghost and not as Street Walker Willow.

Each room echoed with laughter and shouting matches. Ghostly images of slumber parties and stake sharpening sessions. Buffy, Xander, Joyce, and Dawn. They permeated the house. Sinking to her knees in Buffy's old room, Willow whispered, "I miss you. Every day. It's like a part of me died with you. I don't…I don't know what to do, Buffy. You were my best friend and sister all rolled into one.

"Did you know Dawnie's gone, too? And Xander. He's missing. I haven't seen him since the day Warren shot you. I'm so scared. I can't lose him, too. What am I supposed to do?" Her words were lost in the empty room. Lost just like Willow. "Oh, Goddess, Buffy. What am I going to do without you?" Her hands curled into fists as she bent forward over her knees. Sobs caught in Willow's throat. She wouldn't cry. She hadn't cried since the funeral. She didn't have time for tears.

Pushing back her grief left room for anger to escape. Willow screamed in sudden rage and pounded the floor. "This is all my fault!" she shouted. "I brought you back. I thought I was saving you from Hell. And you _hated _me for it. I didn't know, Buffy! I didn't know you'd been in Heaven!"

No one answered her. In fact, the silence seemed to mock Willow's outburst.

Willow slumped in defeat. She'd tried everything: crying, pleading, shouting. Apparently, it was time to move to the next phase, accepting. Willow wasn't sure she had the energy for that. She was absolutely sure she didn't have the desire for it.

She climbed to her feet and plodded from the room without another glance. There was nothing here for her now. Willow would carry the memories with her.

If there were tears in her eyes when she locked the door for the last time… No one was around to see them.

* * *

"What do you want for dinner?" Tara didn't actually sound enthused about the concept, and Willow glanced up from her intense study of nothing. Dark circles marred the skin beneath Tara's eyes, and there was a sallow tint to her normally creamy complexion.

"I'm not really hungry." Food hadn't seemed important. Scanning the haphazardly-stacked boxes in their tiny living room, Willow asked, "Do we even know where the dishes are?" Did they even have food in the apartment? "We could call for take out, I guess. Thai?" Her stomach rolled just thinking about eating. Adding spices to that would certainly be a mistake of epic proportions. "Soup from the place on campus?"

The questions appeared to stump Tara. She watched Willow dumbly.

"Why don't we go out?" It was absolutely the last thing Willow wanted to do, right behind eating. But she'd never seen Tara stretched so emotionally thin. And it wasn't like she loved sitting on their threadbare couch feeling the walls closing in. "Come on. My treat." She'd cashed in all of the savings bonds her parents had started for her when she was younger. Although the move and rent had eaten into the funds, there was enough for a meal out.

Standing up, she held out a hand for Tara. "What's your pleasure tonight, my Lady?"

A slow smile tilted Tara's lips. "Mmmm. I think I like your suggestion of the campus deli, Sir Willow. Shall we take your trusty steed," she gently mocked the battered, ancient car they'd bought after selling Joyce's Jeep, "or does a frolic through the meadow appeal?"

"Unfortunately, the meadow is infested with black knights, my Lady." And Willow had forgotten how to frolic. Even smiling took effort these days. "It would be safer if we took the steed." The Sunnydale nightlife had been on a non-stop frenzy in the five weeks since Buffy's death. "Would milady care to add a movie to our evening's entertainment or will a feast and time with her favored knight suffice?" It had been so long since they'd done this, played these lover-like roles. Willow felt awkward and out of sync with the flowery speeches and teasing.

Tara shook her head and entwined their fingers. "No, Sir Willow. Just the pleasure of your company at our private feast." Raising their hands, she kissed Willow's fingers. "I've missed you, sweetie." She must have felt the strain of their play, too. Her voice wobbled on the final words, and her grip tightened for a moment.

Willow almost protested. She hadn't gone anywhere. She'd spent the last three weeks on the couch, right here in the room. But she knew what Tara meant. "I'm sorry." Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Willow hadn't been able to muster the energy or the motivation to do more than exist once she'd shut the door on their former lives the day they'd left the Summers' home. She'd been mentally and emotionally absent for weeks.

"Don't be sorry, Sir Willow." Using their hands as leverage, Tara pulled Willow outside.

It was a beautiful night. Cool with the hint of a breeze. Even the starts had come out to play. Tilting her head back, Willow took the time to enjoy the sight and hunted for familiar constellations. "Remember that night on the roof?"

"The one where you laughed at my names for the stars?" Tara climbed behind the wheel while Willow tried to find a reply that wouldn't put her farther into the doghouse. "Oh, for Goddess sake, get in the car. I was joking, sweetie." Leaning across the front seat, Tara shoved the passenger door open in invitation.

Willow trotted around and slid in. "I'm..."

"If you say you're sorry, I'm going back inside, Sir Willow." When had Tara gotten so commanding? "We are done being sorry. Tonight is devoted to merriment." Reaching across the console, Tara stroked Willow's fingers. "I knew you were teasing, Will. I remember that night, too."

Some of the lighthearted mood faded. Willow closed her eyes and concentrated on the soothing feel of Tara's fingers. She wasn't going to ruin the evening. She wasn't...even though tears sprang up out of nowhere. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she reopened her eyes. Tara was right. They needed to go out and have a good time. She had to stop wallowing in misery. "Please don't desert me, my Lady." With as much dramatic flair as she could muster, Willow clasped her hands over her heart. "It would wound me grievously were you to grow weary of me."

It was a good enough performance to garner giggles from Tara as she pulled out of their parking spot. "It seems like forever since we've been out." Slowing for a stop sign, Tara glanced across the car. "I've been thinking..."

That was bad. Not the thinking. But the "what" behind the thinking. Willow raised her eyebrows and waited.

"Don't you look at me with that tone, missy," Tara warned. Which prompted Willow to cross her arms and push her brows even higher. "Oh, fine. You win. Goddess." She failed miserably at pretend outrage. "I got a call from one of my professors last week. There's an opening for a research assistant in his department."

"Really?" Willow had been a Scooby for so long that non-demon related jobs had fallen off her radar. "Are you...are you considering it?" What would that mean for them? How could Tara work and still help with patrol? Ah. Patrol wasn't an issue. Willow stared out the windshield, pressure building in her chest. "What kind of a job?" The words hurt to say. Willow's throat had constricted. She worked around the problem, however, and turned her attention back to Tara.

Tara bit her lip. "I was. We need the money, sweetie. And maybe Mr. Giles was right. Maybe we do need to move on with our lives," she nearly whispered, glancing worriedly at Willow. "But let's talk about it tomorrow. We need a night out. Please. Just forget I said anything for right now."

Making a conscious effort _not _to overreact, Willow took off her seat belt and scooted across the front seat. "Did you say something, Tar? I couldn't hear you." Leaning closer, she kissed Tara's abused lip. "Hmmm, I'm the only one who gets to nibble this. Remember? It was our second rule. Right after 'no hiding behind your hair.'" Tara had changed so much since then. They all had, she silently acknowledged. Willow kissed Tara one more time before reclaiming her seat.

"Sweet talker." Blushing and smiling Willow's favorite crooked smile, Tara turned into the UC-Sunnydale campus. It was nearly deserted this time of year. Only graduate students and faculty worked through the summer months. That meant they managed a close-in parking space, and Willow quickly ran around the car to assist Tara from behind the wheel. "You have such manners, Sir Willow."

"Only with you." Willow winked. "My mother always said I was a bull in a china shop when it came to interpersonal relationships."

"Not a bull, sweetie." Tara's smile went past teasing and edged toward pure deviltry. "More like a clumsy puppy, all bounce and no coordination." She relented at Willow's overdone pout, bending to kiss Willow's outthrust lip. "I suddenly wish we'd decided to stay home for dinner," she said softly.

Ooh, horny Tara had arrived at the party. All of Willow's worries went into temporary hiding. She'd never been able to resist Tara in this mood. Leaning in, Willow lightly pushed Tara back against the car. "We don't have any food, Tar." Her hands found a home on Tara's hips, fingers stroking Tara's lower back. "And by the time you let me out of bed, it wouldn't be safe to come back out." Well, it wouldn't be safe for normal, non-witchy people.

There was a moment where the world stilled; the only thing moving was Tara. Willow stared, spellbound, as Tara raised a hand and traced a single finger over Willow's cheek, lips, and throat. "I love you," Tara murmured. "I missed you every day we were apart; I should never have given up and walked away."

"Shh." Ducking her head, Willow caught Tara's finger in her teeth and nibbled for a second. "Don't, baby. Don't beat yourself up." Willow had done enough of that to last a hundred lifetimes. And it hadn't solved anything. "It's over; we're together, and I love you. That's all that matters." Linking their fingers one more time, she pulled Tara away from the car. "Stop stalling and take me to dinner. I'm not letting you welsh on our date."

When they entered the tiny restaurant, the deli wasn't empty. Several tables held groups of students or a single student accompanied by a pile of books and a laptop. Willow found an empty table near the door and pulled out a chair for Tara. "Your usual?"

"Tonight feels different, like a fresh start." Tara quickly scanned a menu left on the table. "In honor of that… I'll have half a club on wheat with a bowl of tomato soup."

"Living dangerously, aren't you? Pretty soon, you'll chomping on a double cheeseburger with all the fixings and an extra large serving of onion rings." Shaking her head in mock disapproval, Willow hurried to the counter to place their order. As she waited for their food, she leaned against the counter and watched Tara.

When they'd first begun dating, they had eaten here at least once a week. Corner tables or tables tucked away behind potted plants were the norm. Neither of them had been comfortable flaunting their relationship. And Tara… She was nearly unrecognizable as the shy witch who'd huddled at their nearly-hidden table with her hair masking her face. The new and improved Tara met Willow's eyes across the small restaurant and blew a kiss. Right out in the open for everyone else to see.

Right there, in a cheap campus eatery, Willow realized one undeniable fact: She was a very lucky woman. Through luck or the Goddess' divine plan, she'd survived five years of active Scooby duty and twice won the love of the most beautiful woman in Sunnydale. Tara was right. Something about tonight did feel different.

"Here you go," the cashier interrupted Willow's musings. "You need anything else?"

"Nope. I've got everything I need," Willow said, only partially referring to the food on the tray. She made a pit stop to fill up their Styrofoam cups and then carried dinner back to the table.

* * *

It was full dark when the waitstaff shooed Tara and Willow out of the restaurant. They'd had so much to catch up on. Even though they'd met at the Pump for coffee several times over the last few months, things had been awkward. Willow had been afraid to push too hard, to act too desperate for Tara to come back to her. Every conversation had been filled with emotional minefields.

Not tonight. Tonight, Willow felt… Well, free wasn't quite right. There had definitely been new, emotional traps to avoid. After a few false starts, though, they'd talked and even managed to laugh. Held hands. Shared a few kisses.

Snapping on her seat belt, Willow waited for Tara to start the car. As if Tara heard her thought, the engine sputtered to life and the headlights sprang on. The illumination highlighted two people struggling at the far side of the quad. "Tara! Stop!"

Willow fought her way free of the seatbelt she'd just fastened and shot out of the car. She sprinted toward the figures. "Hey!" It might not be a vampire. Not every danger in Sunnydale had fangs.

But this one did. With a snarl, the vampire flung the co-ed he'd had been about to snack on to the ground. His yellow eyes gleamed in the dim glow of the sidewalk lights.

Chanting, Willow whipped her hand forward. The energy drain was immediate...and far more than she was expecting. It was a simple spell. At least, it was supposed to be. The tiny, golfball-sized fireball she'd anticipated resembled a basketball, though. Willow blinked against the glare and watched the fireball zoom toward her intended target.

The vampire disappeared in a cloud of dust seconds before the fireball exploded uselessly against a nearby tree, setting the bark and low-hanging branches on fire. Willow watched flames slowly turn into sullen embers and wisps of smoke in confusion. What had just happened?

Tara jogged past. She helped the dazed and shaky college student to her feet. "Our car's right over there in the parking lot," Willow heard her say. The rest of the conversation was an unintelligible murmur.

Willow had finally found an answer to her unspoken question on the ground where the vampire had been. Lying in the pile of dust was a deadly, sharpened stake.


End file.
